


And So We Carry On

by aban_ataashi



Series: Winter Winds (Miervaldis's Story) [3]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Beast of Winter DLC, Gen, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aban_ataashi/pseuds/aban_ataashi
Summary: Ydwin and the Watcher discuss fate and free will on a cold night at The Harbinger's Rest.
Series: Winter Winds (Miervaldis's Story) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550890
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	And So We Carry On

**Author's Note:**

> Inspire by the poetry prompt from tumblr:  
>  _foreign languages flow into the little glasses of our own ___

Stepping into The Harbinger’s Retreat is like slipping back through time. Miervaldis eases his grip on the fur coat wrapped around his shoulders as he steps out of the bitter cold, letting himself thaw as he is greeted by the warmth of the room’s large fireplace and the ever-present smell of stewed fish. For a moment, it’s all too easy to pretend he’s back in the White that Wends rather than in the middle of the Deadfire Archipelago.

By now, his companions have long dispersed to their own rooms. Most of his friends are not accustomed to cold such as this; Miervaldis cannot blame them for retreating to the comforts of thick walls and heavily quilted beds. Even for a Glamfellen, the idea of a warm bedroom is comforting. But tonight sleep is eluding him, as it so often does, and so he finds himself here.

Despite the late hour, the tavern is not completely empty. Patrons are scattered about, sipping at cups of Rymsjódda lager, and the sight stirs such nostalgia in Miervaldis that he automatically drifts towards the bar to order a mug himself.

The barkeep is a grizzled-looking elf who takes his order in Ordhjóma, and Miervaldis responds in kind. The words roll off his tongue naturally, even after all these years, furthering the sensation of having stepped back in time. Miervaldis allows himself to enjoy this moment from the past for a short while, drinking slowly from his cup of lager. He ponders ordering a plate of ysae to go with it; the hour is rather late for a full meal, but the idea of warm food is enticing and it is a dish that may prove difficult to prove once his business on this island is done.

His peaceful state of simple contemplation is interrupted when the door to the tavern opens once more. Miervaldis turns automatically as a bitter rush of wind bursts through the door- quickly followed by Ydwin, who slams the door fiercely. After a moment of shaking the snow from her thick coat, she looks up and notices Miervaldis across the room. Even from here, Miervaldis can sense her annoyance at the unexpected encounter.

Still, she forges onward to the bar, making no effort to avoid him. The barkeep smiles at her, oblivious to her irritation, and asks in Ordhjóma, “ _Can I get you a cup of lager or ale, sister_?”

“Just murkbrew,” Ydwin snaps in sharp Aedyran. “Plain.” The barkeep frowns at her tone, but turns to fetch her drink. She accepts the brew silently and curtly drops a few coins in hand before turning her gaze to Miervaldis.

“You’re up late, Duskspeaker,” she says, and on her tongue the title is a scathing insult.

The tranquil nostalgia that had enveloped Miervaldis dissolves, and he sets his mug down on the bar in silence.

Ydwin pauses, studying Miervaldis with critical attention. The two have never put up any pretense of liking each other; their philosophies are far too opposed for that. But Ydwin joined his crew because she cannot resist hunting down answers to her questions, and Miervaldis doesn’t need Watcher senses to see the questions forming in her mind now. Slowly, her dark mood gives way to curiosity. “Why are _you_ looking so dour? I thought you of all people would be happy for that title.”

“I am the Herald of Berath,” Miervaldis says simply. “Not of Rymrgand.”

“You seem well enough at home here,” Ydwin points out. She sighs as she adjusts her glasses, and Miervaldis can’t help but notice the dark circles under her eyes. “You speak the language here better than I ever did.”

Miervaldis shakes his head and softly replies, “Not well enough, in the end.” Ydwin shoots him a questioning look, and he shrugs. “Our people have a unique connection to Rymyrgand. That cannot be argued. But my path has led me elsewhere, and there is no reason it should change direction now.”

“Oh, come now,” Ydwin says derisively. “Berath, Rymrgand- it all ends up at the same place. It’s just different words for the same religious fervor.”

“They couldn’t be further apart,” Miervaldis disagrees. “Rymrgand’s end is absolute. Is that not the very reason why our people cling to him so?”

“Stop saying _our_ people,” Ydwin gripes. She crosses her arms and looks away. “I want nothing to do this with nonsense, and I’ve tried not to dwell too long on old lessons about Rymrgand’s grand eternal rest.”

Miervaldis raises an eyebrow. “And yet you remember the teachings still.”

Ydwin huffs, and her gaze sweeps across the tavern. “Difficult not to, when I’ve been dragged back here.” Her eyes, contemplative and measuring, return to Miervaldis. “And I’m not the only one who remembers. If they’re so different, how did you end up Berathian? How is your god superior to the Beast?”

“As I said, Rymrgand is absolute. But Berath…” Miervaldis closes his eyes, lets his fingers trace over the amulet at his neck. “Berath oversees the cycle. Every ending of Rymrgand, every beginning of Eothas- they’re all just turns of the Wheel. Nothing begins or ends, really. It just keeps moving, all in equal measures. Berath is the balance of the world, and only in balance is there true peace.”

The barkeep is watching both Ydwin and Miervaldis now with a tense frown, and Miervaldis remembers seeing the man in Vatnir’s congregation. It is no surprise that one of Rymrgand’s faithful would be displeased with the beliefs of their new Duskspeaker. Miervaldis gives him a silent, placid nod, but the frown only deepens.

Ydwin, however, only looks vaguely amused. With a scoff, she replies, “A peaceful world is one that never changes. I’ve no use for that. These people can keep their rest, and you can keep your balance. I’m not following anyone else’s path- I’m forging one of my own choosing.”

Miervaldis tilts his head slightly. “That sounds like a good way to lose yourself.”

“Better than letting the gods shuffle me through life and calling it fate.”

“You’d rather destroy your own soul and call it free will?”

He does not hide his disapproval- indeed, he has made it well-known to Ydwin many times in the past- but she seems to take his question as a compliment. She looks at him with a small smirk and says, “Now you sound like a proper Glamfellen. Embracing fatalism because you’ve never known anything else.” She chuckles and shakes your head. “Honestly, I don’t know why you even brought me onto your crew.”

“Berath led me to you. I trusted the reason would become clear in time.” Miervaldis is silent for a moment, sipping from his lager in quiet thoughtfulness. “Maybe that time is now. Maybe you are meant to help me stop this end that is approaching. I may understand religion, but it could be a different sort of understanding is needed to deal with Rymrgand and his dragon.”

The corner of Ydwin’s mouth twitches, and Miervaldis wonders just how torn she is between disdain for the land she now finds herself in and the immense curiosity she must feel regarding the dragon’s stubborn resistance to death. “Whatever grievances I have with you, Watcher, I will say this- there’s never a dull moment with you around. I don’t put stock in these fates and higher meanings you speak of, but I have no desire to see the world end. If you need my help stopping it, then I’ll make you the worst Duskspeaker there ever could be.”

Miervaldis allows himself a small smile. “I couldn’t ask for more.”

Ydwin chuckles again, and in one smooth motion drains the last of her murkbrew. “All this talk reminds me that I still have work to. Carry on, Watcher.”

The words are a customary dismissal, old and traditional, and for a moment Miervaldis is somewhat surprised to hear Ydwin speak them. But he nods, and gives her the typical response in return. “ _Vith jer_ _üm dh_ _áth eldtaf.”_

_We always do._

With another sardonic chuckle, Ydwin pulls her coat tightly around her and departs from the bar, once again leaving Miervaldis to his lager and his memories.


End file.
